#disease x who

[dragonsareverycool]

A Brothers Reunion

The small summoning circle lit up, casting a soft green glow, as two eyes watched it with weary hope.

——————————————————

Two demons argued violently about a soul, and Danny sighed from his spot on the throne that fully claimed him a month ago. While he still found it hilarious how thoroughly this guy managed to swindle so many of the high ranking demons, it had started to cross into annoying territory. Danny was seriously considering making a whole office dedicated specifically to hold all the paperwork one ‘John Constantine’ was seemingly generating with his very presence. Suddenly, Danny felt a soft tug on his core, much gentler then the summoning rituals of all those crazy cultists that keep popping out of nowhere used. More like the circles he gave to Sam Tucker or Jazz. But he could feel the summoner’s emotions, and the poor guy on the other end felt like he was about to cry.

Danny mentally went through everyone he’s given his personal line to. Then, he shot up and called for Fright Knight to send the demons away while Danny quickly allowed himself to be pulled through the summoning circle to where his brother waited anxiously.

——————————————————

The circle flared, and a large eldrich like figure quickly crawled through. Then, a very familiar voice muttered

“Man I wish these things weren’t so dramatic. I already scared the shit out of the justice league because of it” as the being’s form shifted to the more familiar form he took when seeing Damian for the first time in a decade. His white hair looked a little longer now, and his eyes a less toxic green.

“Danyal” Damian said stiffly. Danny looked up, making eye contact with Damian before responding

“Damian” in response Damian lunged, pressing a blade to Danny’s neck before asking a question only Danny could answer.

“What’s the last story you told me?” Danny simply smiled nostalgically,

“There’s the Damian I know. I told you about Canis Minor 16 days before I died the first time.” Damian heasitated before putting away his weapon and paused before he quickly started to hug Danny, who returned the hug.

“… first time?” Damian asked, still in Danny’s arms.

“Mother didn’t tell you what happened to me after, did she?” Danny asked into his twins hair. Damian didn’t even bother to say anything and just turned his head to look at Danny balefully, before Danny sighed and said

“Of course she didn’t. I was dunked into the Lazarus pits, before mother dropped me off in the middle of nowhere America, where she forbade me from ever talking about my old life or ever attempting to contact you.” Damian paused to process this, before saying

“And the second time?” Danny sighed at that, his face set into a grimace. Damian started to move, bringing Danyal over to his bed, where Danny realized Damian had summoned Danny in his room. Damian sat them both onto his bed, and curled further into Danny’s arms, while gesturing to continue.

“I was adopted by a couple who claimed to be ‘ectobiologists’ who already had an older daughter named Jazz. She’s my sister.” Damian nodded solemnly at that, mentally adding ‘Jazz’ to his list of siblings. Danny pulled out his brick of a phone and started showing Damian pictures of his adoptive parents, his sister and everything else as he spoke about it. “They’d been working on a project in their lab since before they adopted me, longer then they’re had Jazz even. When I was fourteen, they finally tried to turn it on. It failed. It was a portal to what they called ‘The Ghost Zone’, but that realm is much more. The Infinite Realms are the glue that holds all universes together, and its a kind of afterlife. They didn’t know half of that, only that some souls of humans who died stay there, and even then, they thought that these ghosts were only a husk of their former selves, and couldn’t feel pain.” Damian started to connect the dots at that and asked

“You’re one of these ghosts?” It was almost a statement, but Damian wasn’t going to make many assumptions. Danny nodded before continuing

“I had two friends who convinced me to show them the failed portal. I walked inside of the portal we assumed was completely defunct, and I tripped over one of the many wires on the floor. When I tried to stabilize myself, I hit the on button.” Damian’s eyes widened, and he froze while Danny paused. After a moment, Danny continued, saying “My adoptive parents had connected the portal to the towns power grid, and the portal opened up on top of me. Electricity and ectoplasm, what ghosts and the Infinite Realms are made of, clashed inside my body, killing me and reviving me repeatedly until the portal finally spit me back out. I only half died that day.” Danny put his phone away and focused on playing with Damian’s hair. Damian reveled in his brothers affectionate touch like when they were small.

“Half?” Damian asks after a minute or two.

“Half. I technically have several ghost forms, and I have a human form” Damian looked up from Danyal’s arms, his eyes asking the obvious question he was a little afraid to ask, though he’d never admit it. Danny smiled at the unasked question, and rings of light formed around him, before dissipating and revealing a very much alive eighteen year old Danyal Nightingale. He grabbed one of Damian’s hands and pressed it against his neck, allowing Damian to revel in feeling his former dead brother’s pulse. Damian tested Danny’s wrist, and put his ear against Danny’s now warm chest.

Damian will deny the appearance of tears to his death, but Danny didn’t say anything, he just held Damian closer. After a while Danyal started to talk about the stars. Filling the silence with quiet but passionate rambling about stars and space. It was familiar. It was safe and warm and then Richard ruined the moment by slamming open Damian’s door yelling about a ‘Family Game Night’ and got a knife for his troubles. Of course he dodged with practiced ease, but then he realized Damian wasn’t alone in his room. Time seemed to freeze at the stand off. Dick had frozen, as the joy on his face seemed to leach away at the realization that there was an intruder.

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

Let Me Save You

fandom: Doctor Who

pairing: 11th Doctor x Reader

summary: Your favorite hobby is collecting alien medical supplies. At least, the Doctor thinks it's a hobby.

Or, you try to make your chronic illness go away without consulting the Doctor first. Can be read platonic or romantic.

tags/warnings: chronic pain, chronic illness, medical experimentation, self-medication, experimental drug use, emotional hurt/comfort

word count: 4384

a/n: an 11 fic in the year of our lord 2024? more likely than you'd think

i hope this is comforting for someone. i had a dream about this and now here we are.

reader's illness is never specified (it's mentioned that you experience pain of some sort, but not where or how or anything like that) so this can be generalized. also no gender identifiers that i can see (but ialso wrote this really fast so please correct me if im wrong!)

It’s been a week since your last market trip, and you still haven’t sorted the supplies. You know you’re slacking, but it’s been more difficult lately. To get up, to put on a smile for him, when your whole body is falling apart. Of course, he doesn’t know that. He can never know.

But he can keep you company while you sort the supplies. Hold you accountable. Even if he doesn’t know what for.

The Doctor, as usual, is tinkering away at the interface. Occasionally, a spark flies out at him, but he seems unbothered. You approach the console room from a nearby hallway, your satchel slung over your shoulder. You glance around, looking for him, before taking a seat on the floor.

The Doctor had heard your footsteps, and now he lifts his goggles to observe you. He watches as you set the satchel down. “Everything alright?”

You spare him a quick glance and a nod. “Fine. Just… looking for company. You can go back to work; I’ll just watch, if that’s okay.”

The Doctor pauses, disturbed by the slight downturn of your smile, but lets it go for now. “As long as you don’t distract me.”

You hum to yourself in quiet agreement. “I’ll try my best.”

As the Doctor turns back away to continue his tinkering, you dump the contents of your satchel on the floor - spoils of your previous trip to the Martian Markets. Your eyes scan over the bottles and tubes and capsules; all sorts of alien medical supplies. There were pain medications, instant bandages, antiseptic infused with nano-bots. This is your hobby - at least, that’s all the Doctor thinks it is - collecting medical supplies from the planets you visit.

You sit quietly, your brow furrowed in concentration, as you sort the supplies into piles. The Doctor hears the slight commotion and looks over his shoulder, a curious look on his face. He sets down his screwdriver and rests his elbows on the console. “You’ve never told me why you collect all these.”

You hum, eyes still fixed on the piles. “Might come in handy someday.” You manage a small smile, although it doesn’t quite reach the rest of your expression.

The Doctor tilts his head, a frown forming on his face. He doesn’t want to push; you would tell him the reason when you felt comfortable enough to do so. But he couldn’t help his curiosity. “You worry too much. Always thinking about the what-ifs.”

You snort and pick up a bottle of Martian healing salve, turning it over in your hands. “I worry too much? Okay.”

His mouth gapes open for a moment, taken aback by your sarcastic tone. Immediately, he jumps to defend himself, pointing his screwdriver at you. “Hey, I-”

“Do you think we could visit another market soon? I’d like to see if I can find anything else.” You cut him off, hardly noticing that you’re even doing it. You glance up at him, finally noticing the faux-wounded look on his face.

The Doctor closes his mouth, reaching for his bowtie in a self-soothing gesture. You’re being… weird. But he doesn’t mention it. “A… another market, yeah. Shouldn’t be a problem. Somewhere with lots of alien medical supplies, I assume?”

You smile again, the dull look in your eyes a stark contrast to the expression. “Yeah, preferably.”

The Time Lord’s unease grows as he sees the falsehood in your countenance. He goes silent for a moment, watching as you go back to picking through the supplies. Finally, he decides to speak. “I know there’s something wrong. You can tell me, you know.”

You, too, go silent. Your movements still. Finally, you reply quietly, “I know.” You begin to pack the things back into your satchel, finished with sorting and cataloging them.

“Then why won’t you tell me?” He slowly approaches from the console, kneeling down so he’s at eye level.

“It’s… complicated, Doctor.” You avoid his searching gaze and ignore the way your heart races.

The Doctor scoffs, settling down cross-legged in front of you. “I’m a Time Lord. I think I’m more than well-versed in all things complicated.” He reaches out a hand to gently touch your knee and his voice grows soft. “Try me.” When you don’t respond, the Doctor frowns. He can feel his own frustration bubbling up, the sort that comes when his companions keep secrets from him. But he tries to keep his voice level, not wanting to scare you off. “I can tell when you’re lying. I can see it with you just as I can see it with anyone else.”

You finally place the last item back in the satchel. Your eyes lift slowly to meet his gaze. “It’s not a lie if I haven’t even told you anything,” you whisper.

The Doctor’s expression softens as he looks into your eyes. There’s something broken there, and it scares him. “Fine. You haven’t lied. But you still haven’t told me the truth.”

You look down at where his hand rests on your knee. Slowly, you reach for his wrist, circling your fingers around it. The Doctor’s confusion only grows, his body tensing slightly at the unexpected touch. But he doesn’t pull back. You slide your hand to the underside of his wrist, two fingers pressed against his pulse point. Your gaze is fixed on the point where you touch, the warmth of his skin, the soft thrum of his hearts. “It’s odd, you know.” The words come out as a soft murmur. “Two hearts, but only one pulse.”

The Doctor swallows hard, feeling a strange sense of dread. His hearts pound in his chest, thrumming against your fingers on his wrist. He speaks quietly, “Not entirely. Gallifreyan biology isn’t the same as humans. Our cardiovascular system works differently. That’s all.”

You quickly withdraw your fingers, almost as if his touch has burned you. Your expression grows a bit harder - not unkind, just closed off. You swing your satchel back over your shoulder and stand. “The market soon, yeah?”

The Doctor’s eyes widen as you suddenly pull away. A pang of hurt, confusion, and fear shoots through him. The words stick in his throat. “Yeah. The market soon.”

You give one quick nod. “Just come get me whenever you’re ready to go. Or have the TARDIS tell me. Whichever.” You turn on your heel, heading back down the hall to your room.

Helplessness washes over the Doctor as he watches you leave. He wants to reach out, to call you back and demand you tell him what’s going on. But he has seen enough of his companions shutting him out, and he has no desire to make it happen again. With a heavy, dejected sigh, he stands, returning to the console to seek out a market you haven’t visited yet. He hopes perhaps this will cheer you up, or at the very least, give him a chance to try and talk to you again.

About 30 minutes later, the TARDIS lands on the unfamiliar planet with her usual jolt, letting out a groan to signify their arrival. The Doctor calls down the hallways in the direction of your room. “Oi! We’ve landed, come on!”

You come out with a smile on your lips, the previous interaction seemingly forgotten. There is still an emptiness in your eyes, but it’s clear you’re trying to offset it. You clutch your now-empty satchel at your side eagerly. “What are we waiting for then?”

Your vigor should put the Doctor at ease, but it only serves to strengthen his resolve to find out what is bothering you. He tries to swallow down his nerves, giving you a broad, excited grin as he opens the TARDIS doors for you.

As you both step outside, the brightness nearly blinds you. You have to blink to clear the sudden spots in your vision. The Doctor rattles on enthusiastically beside you. “The interplanetary markets of the Rumalian system. They have 3 suns, which makes for some interesting orbital patterns. We’re actually standing on the remnants of the 4th planet in the system, which imploded after a nasty leak of toxic goo.” He rubs his hands together, eyes taking in the various tents and canopies which line the streets of the market. “But nothing to worry about now; the implosion managed to burn up all of the toxicity and now it’s a wonderful place for the markets! All sorts of folk around here, Grumians, Braleths, Wertikens…”

Finally, your vision clears and you can observe the sight in front of you. The ground is a mottled green color, with bits of rock and dust around. The street winds and twists, branching off into different sections. There must be thousands of market stalls, stretching out as far as your eye can see. Alien species of all shapes and sizes wander past, browsing the tables and exchanging wares. You hold your satchel a little tighter, tamping down the anxiety that rises in your chest at the noise and commotion. “Right. Where are the medical supplies then?”

The Doctor breaks off from his tangent about the stall that makes the best plum creams to look at you. He points down the path. “Three rows down that way.”

You look where he’s pointing and nod firmly. “Good. I’ll meet you back here, yeah?”

The bowtie around the Doctor’s neck seems to grow tighter as he looks at you - it’s like all the air has been sucked from his lungs. The look in your eyes is something fierce and determined. It scares him. Still, he manages a small smile and a nod. “Or I’ll find you. I’ll get some plum creams for us.” As you begin to walk down the path without another word, he calls out to you. “Make sure you read the labels!”

Aliens brush up against your shoulders as you make your way to the row the Doctor indicated. Your eyes grow wide as you arrive at the end. Nearly every table and stall is lined with bottles and jars and tubes. For about the thousandth time since you began traveling with the Doctor, you send a prayer of thanks to the TARDIS translation matrix. This would be impossible without it.

You spend the next two hours stopping at every stall on the row. You speak to vendors about their wares, picking up a few items at nearly every table. By the time you reach the end, your satchel is heavy and nearly bursting with neatly wrapped packages. As you finish up, placing a roll of Gradorian tendon tape into your satchel, you hear the familiar sound of the Doctor’s voice. He’s at the end of the next row, conversing with an alien that has the head of a walrus and the body of a horse.

You approach the pair, struggling to zip your satchel as you go. The Doctor notices you and gives you a smile, walking away from the walrus-horse thing. “Looks like you’ve done well.”

You smile back at him, and this time the darkness in your eyes seems a bit lighter. “Yes, I think so.”

The change in your demeanor only causes the Doctor’s confusion to grow. But he keeps his face neutral, nodding at your stuffed satchel. “Might need a bigger bag soon. The Lorentians make a wonderful dimensional bag, like a TARDIS! Bigger on the inside and all that. In fact, there might already be one here.”

He’s already begun to walk away in search of a Lorentian bag stand. You manage to catch the end of his sleeve, bringing him to a sudden halt. “Maybe next time. Let’s get back, yeah? I wanna go through all this.”

The Doctor raises an eyebrow at you but nods. He falls into step beside you, watching how you clutch the satchel at your side protectively. You make your way back down the row to where the TARDIS is parked. As you walk, the Doctor hands you one of the infamous plum creams he’d mentioned. You chew on it, savoring the flavor as you walk.

Once you’ve arrived back to the TARDIS and taken off, you turn to the Doctor. There’s a strange look in your eyes, the same look you always get after a trip to a market for more medical supplies - something eager, something… desperate. You pat the full satchel. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

“Right… I’ll leave you to it, then.” He watches as you head down the hallway. The lump in his throat seems to choke him. He’s missing something, and it’s driving him wild.

In your room, you mirror your movements from earlier, dumping the satchel’s contents onto the floor. You sit cross-legged and begin to sort the supplies - pills in front of you, injections to the left, and any goops, solutions, or salves to the right. By the time you’re done, the floor around you is covered in neat rows of bottles, tubes, and syringes.

You stretch out your legs and roll up your pants to above your knees. A roll of medical tape sits beside you, and you grab it to begin carefully taping a grid on your knees. You make sure to have enough squares for each of the substances intended for topical usage. Before long, you’ve neatly taped off each joint.

Out in the control room, the Doctor is pacing. He rounds the center console over and over, his frustration mounting with each revolution. He’s racking his brain, trying to find what he’s missed, but nothing comes to mind. He runs his hand through his hair before leaning back on the console. He speaks quietly to himself and to the TARDIS. “What do you think? Surely there’s something wrong… it’s been like this for weeks and it’s only getting worse.” The TARDIS lets out a low hum, the lights glowing brighter for a second. The Doctor takes this as a sign of agreement. With a determined huff, he strides out into the hallway. He’s going to get answers, whether you like it or not.

The Doctor has to focus hard in order to unclench his jaw, tight with anxiety. He tries to tamp down the fear that rises up in him - it feels like walking to his doom. As he approaches your room, he straightens his bowtie, then raps firmly on your door while calling your name. “It’s me. Open the door.”

You startle in the room, accidentally dropping the bottle of pills you’d been holding. They scatter across the ground, rolling all over the place and causing a loud clatter. “Bit busy!” you call out, desperately trying to clean up the mess you’ve made.

The Doctor frowns as he hears the commotion, the knot in his stomach growing tighter. “I need to talk to you. Open up or… or I’m coming in.” Normally he would never threaten such things, but the anxiety coursing through him was enough to drive him mad - well, more mad than usual.

You swore under your breath, staring at the incriminating scene around you - your gridded knees, covered in colored goops, the rows of pill bottles in front of you, the syringes waiting neatly beside them. “No! I’m… I’m changing!” The lie came out thin as you searched for something to clean the substances off your skin.

“Oh come on, I’m a thousand-year-old alien. I think I can handle the sight of you in a state of undress.”

You huff indignantly, staring at the door with narrowed eyes. You can make out the shadow of his form under the door. You’re silent for a moment, scared and a bit angry. Then, finally-

“No.”

The Doctor clenches his jaw at your simple response. He can hear the hesitation, the defiance, and knows that you’re certainly getting yourself into trouble. “Right. You’ve left me no choice. I’m coming in.” Before you can protest, the Doctor pulls out his sonic and points it at the door handle. It unlocks with a gentle click and he pushes it open all the way.

It takes a moment for the scene before his eyes to register. He scans the substances laid out in front of you, the pills scattered across the floor. One rolls across the ground to stop next to his foot. He sees the cacophony of colored gels on your knees, the odd grid pattern you’ve placed them in. The waiting syringes, the bottles of pills…

“What are you doing?” His voice comes out small, almost trembling.

Your mouth gapes open, an odd sort of croaking sound coming out of it as the words stick in your throat. You have nothing to say, no explanation that will make this any better.

The Doctor leans down to pick up the pill that stopped by his shoe. He examines it carefully, scans it with the sonic, and reads the results. His brow furrows and fear rises up in his chest. He whispers your name. “Talk to me; what is all of this? Why… why do you have all of these?”

Finally, the shock wears off and you look down at your hands in shame. You slowly move to take the tape off of your knees, then grab a towel to wipe them down. As you do, the Doctor watches in silence. You can’t look at him - you can’t look at his face when you’re sure he’s absolutely infuriated with you. “It’s nothing.” The words sound weak even to you.

“Don’t say that!” The Doctor’s voice is louder than you’ve ever heard it before, and you startle, looking up at him with wide eyes. He softens as he sees the fear on your face, slowly lowering himself to the ground. He holds his hands out to you like one might do to a wounded animal. “Please. Please be honest with me. Just… tell me what’s going on. I only want to help.”

Tears prickle at the corner of your eyes and you hate your body for betraying you. You wipe them away angrily, then pick up the towel to continue scrubbing at your knees. You can’t speak, even if you wanted to. Anything you want to say will just come out as a shitty excuse, or a lie. And you can’t lie to him. You manage a deep breath and meet his eyes. To your surprise, there’s no anger, no frustration - just fear. “I can’t tell you… I just need you to know.”

The Doctor dips his head to hold your gaze. He speaks softly, “How can I know if you don’t tell me?”

You shake your head, averting your eyes once more. “You’re the Doctor. Make an educated guess.”

The Doctor’s hearts feel like they’re about to burst out of his chest. He’s so scared and worried for you; he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. His mind is in overdrive, going a million miles per hour as he tries to work this out. Why do you have all these pills? Why were you using alien medicine on yourself? Don’t you know how dangerous this is?

The answer hits him all at once and it takes everything in him not to scream his frustration for not figuring it out sooner. The exhaustion, the medicine, the desperation…

“You’re sick.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a breath, an exhale, a momentary nightmare that the Doctor wishes he could wake up from. He hopes you laugh, hopes you tell him this is all a big joke or something. He wants you to deny it, to say it’s not true. But the look in your eyes says the exact opposite.

A sob rips itself from your lips as you clap a hand over your mouth, trying to hold in the emotions that threaten to escape.

The Doctor feels like he’s been punched in the gut. The air seems thin and tenuous, each breath a struggle. “How long?”

You sniff and discard the towel you’d been using, wiping away tears once more. Each word wobbles as your resolve fades. He knows now; there’s no use holding back. “Since the beginning? It’s… I was born with it.”

With every word, the Doctor’s grip on himself grows weaker. The lump in his throat almost chokes him; his hearts squeeze in a vice. “And you’ve… you’ve kept it a secret this whole time. From me.”

The brokenness in his voice nearly makes you crumble. Shame and guilt race up your spine and blush burns on your cheeks. Another sob spills from your mouth. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

Immediately the Doctor regrets his words. This is about you, not him. He can manage his own feelings later. Right now you need him. He shuffles closer to you, almost close enough to touch. “No, no, shh. It’s not your fault. It’s alright, hush now.” He carefully wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side. You immediately turn your head into his chest, crying with your face buried in his shirt. He rocks you gently, murmuring reassurances in your ear. “I have you now; you’re alright.”

It takes a few minutes, but eventually your tears slow. The Doctor continues to sway you side to side, the motion soothing both of you. When he thinks you’ve calmed, he slowly starts to pull away. You grip his shirt with both fists, letting out a whine. He moves to hold your hands, already trying to reassure you. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. Can you just look at me?”

You release your vice grip on him although you stay close. You manage to tilt your head to meet his eyes while still keeping in contact, his hands covering yours.

He smiles softly, sadly, at you. “There you are.” His voice is kind, almost paternal.

You sniffle, shame still coursing through you. But the gentleness in his eyes makes you feel a bit more at ease. This is the Doctor. He won’t hurt you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought…”

The Doctor waits for you to continue, hating to hear you apologize but wanting to know what you’re thinking. He nods, indicating he’s listening.

“I thought if I… found a cure, then I wouldn’t ever have to tell you. That I could keep going, keep traveling with you, and you would never know because… it wouldn’t matter anymore.”

The twin hearts in the Doctor’s chest seem to stutter. The thought of you carrying this burden alone, of keeping this a secret to protect him… “How could you think… I care about you. Of course this matters. You matter. You’re my… you’re my friend.”

“When I… when I was diagnosed, I lost people. People I thought were my friends, too. They promised to be there, promised to stay. But they only helped when it was convenient for them. Once they realized that my condition stops me from living like they do, they moved on.” Your voice was small and scared.

The Doctor raises a hand to cup your cheek gently, ducking to look into your eyes. “Hey. I’m not people. And I would never leave you. Not for this.” His hearts ache at the fear and pain in your eyes. He wants to hold you tight to his chest and never let you go. Instead, he keeps his voice steady as he speaks. “You are more than just what you go through. You’re brilliant, and kind, and caring. I could never think less of you for something like this.”

A soft sob spills from your lips. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you… that I didn’t tell you.”

He shakes his head, bringing his other hand up now to hold your face. His touch is gentle, like you’re something fragile that might break if he lets go. “Please, don’t apologize. I understand, I really do. Just… promise me you’ll never keep something like this from me again. Please.”

Your eyes search his, looking for any sign of deception, or anger, or hurt. But you find none - just affection and a concern as deep as the universe. “Promise.”

He gently rubs his thumb across your cheek, your faces only inches apart. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours for a moment. Now you can feel his fear, feel the anguish that you’ve put him through. You wince as the feelings grow stronger. He pulls away and murmurs, “Sorry. Time Lord telepathy.”

“It’s alright,” you reply, feeling off-kilter, unable to sort his feelings from your own. “What… what do I do now?”

The Doctor opens his eyes once more. “We work together to find a cure. For whatever it is you have. You stop keeping secrets, and you stop this reckless attempt at a solution. You stop the self-medicating, the experimenting, the searching-”

Already you’re shaking your head. “No, I… I can’t stop. I’ve been trying for so long. I can’t just… give up.”

“It’s not giving up.” The Doctor clenched his jaw, trying to keep his voice level even as his frustration grew. “This is dangerous. Do you have any idea what these things could do to a human?” He releases one hand from your face to grab a nearby pill bottle. His eyes scan the label before he holds it up in front of your face. “These could kill you.”

You swallow hard, averting your eyes. “It’s all I have.”

“No.” The Doctor’s voice is firm, almost scolding. “Absolutely not. This is not all you have. You have me and I want to help. But I won’t let you destroy yourself.”

You shrink away from him, a little scared by the tone of his voice. You’ve seen the Doctor angry; of course you have. But never at you.

He notices, sees you retreating into yourself, and regrets his words immediately. He whispers your name like it’s something sacred. “I say it because I care. I’m not angry, I’m… I’m afraid. I don’t… I can’t lose you.” He grips your hands once more, holding them like he’s afraid you’ll disappear right then and there. “Please, let me help. Let me save you.”

You don’t have to think about your answer. You’ve kept your secrets close to your chest, and that was a mistake. Now here he is, always the savior. The Doctor. Your Doctor. How could you ever say no to him?

[mudd-art]

Orrin got the anti-romance bug, Halsin is immune. (ref)

They went on a wildshape date to the lake.

[itstheaestheticforme]

Sefikura, Hanahaki Disease Trope

[doctorweebmd]

ok my OTHER reflection:

on the one hand its really frustrating to see the posts about docs and healthcare in general on here be so narrow-minded. bad experiences with certain providers have lead to a huge spread of misinformation and mistrust with the whole system. which can and HAS lead to people avoiding 'evil' doctors for perfectly treatable illnesses and dying from them (the vaccine bullshit, anyone?)

but on the other hand. it is TERRIFYING how some of these docs practice medicine. at times i think 'are you just burned out and don't give a shit or are you straight up just stupid?' and i work in critical care. where quite literally every case is life or death. even in the academic sector where there is supposedly a standard of excellence, some doctors i would not let touch my loved ones with a ten foot pole.

and that sucks. i know this is the no nuance piss on the poor webbed site but 'the medical system and people that work for it are fallible and aspects of it are morally questionable at best/unethical at worst' AND 'the field of medicine exists to help people first and foremost and mistrusting/avoiding it can be detrimental in the long run' can and DO co-exist

[dewdrops-whammy-bar]

Hey I think Mary likes being called a good girl. The combination of praise and genderfuckery makes their brain just go blank. It’s one of their only weaknesses and once you activate it they’ll do anything to hear those words again. Can anyone hear me it’s so dark in here. I am so cold and my pebnis fell off :(

[annmarcus63]

It's unconventional to live with a terminal illness for a long time. Jaskier, of course, has always been unconventional. Barely a year after meeting Geralt, Jaskier began to taste perfume on his tongue. Not long after, he began to pick out delicate little petals from between his teeth. But he gave it no thought, the perfume and the petals meant fresh flowery breath. Some maidens compliment his hygiene in comparison with the rotten breath of her husbands. Things became worrying when he woke up one night gasping, something was in his throat, he stuck his fingers inside to pried the petal out, a full yellow petal followed by a string of spit. Jaskier is filled with fear and denial which prompt him to search for a healer in the next village he visits with Geralt.

I need supplies, he said. I can get them for you, the witcher offered. No! thank you darling but you wouldn't know what kind of strings and scented oils I require to be this talented and fetching, the bard lied. The healer said he got hanahaki disease at an early stage. There's no cure but to give up the love he had for that person. But how could he? Love is not meant to be controlled or selective. Days after, Geralt saved a girl from the claws of some sick bandits that kidnapped her one week before, he was kind and patient with her, even if she couldn't stop crying to tell them where she lives. In that moment Jaskier concluded that he'd die for loving Geralt.

Years on, the disease grows to full flowers and the occasional stems that irritates his throat. He uses the flowers as decoration on his outfits, sometimes weaving them into crowns or into Roach's mane. Acacias, Lilies, Orchids and chrysanthemums, Dahlias, Freesias and some others he doesn't recognize. After a while he can make full bouquets to gifted to Geralt, he washes the blood and spit first of course. The witcher grimaces but accepts them with no complaints. Yennefer and him had a fight over telling Geralt or getting away to find someone else. You want him all to yourself, Jaskier yells. Don't be an idiot, you'd die!, the witch screams back. What is it to you? I'll die sooner or later anyways.

He weaves flowers in Ciri's hair too. It's not until the flowers begin to clog his airways that he knows he's almost there. He doesn't have much time. Geralt notices and he's worried, he confronts the bard about it too many times but Jaskier doesn't tell him. He's pale and weak the day he faints next to Geralt. The truth is revealed, Geralt is furious and feels betrayed but most of all is scared of losing Jaskier. Geralt offers to go on dates with him, to court him and make an effort. So you can forget them, he says, forget them and love me. Oh, darling, that's the problem, says Jaskier with tears in his eyes.

[gwensy]

the fact that remy almost exclusively refers to jubilee as baby in french makes me sick it makes me sick it makes me sick. thats his kid

[cluescorner]

They fucking did it again those bastards. Jason Todd fucking dies 2: Electric Boogaloo. Fuck it, let's go for a threepeat at this point. It'll be funny as hell.

[thefreethoughtprojectcom]

That is how profiteering works. So we will have to make things right with activism and exposure because they obviously won’t.

Read More: https://thefreethoughtproject.com/international-news/who-pandemic-treaty-will-consolidate-wealth-and-power-on-an-unimaginable-level

#TheFreeThoughtProject #TFTP

[lammydraws]

au where lamb fights and defeats Narinder but then goes fuck it, take this crown I'm done with this

notes about this au below the cut (trigger warning for very dark content, this is not a light au)

Narinder refuses to let them die (either by his hand or other means), since that is exactly what they want, he knows they're strong, he knows they're useful, and in some sick and twisted way of dealing with how he feels and out of anger and revenge he keeps them around, torturing and humiliating them. Death would be too easy. He is cruel, unfair, unkind. Lamb loves to hate him and hates to love him. But they're still in his service, still his vessel. Still obligated to serve their life to him.

So he keeps them around as a sort of plaything. He tortures them. He wants to make them feel pain, he wants them to cry and scream. He plays with their integrity, their humanity, their emotions. He loves them, he hates them, he hurts them. He feels joy, he feels pain, he feels pleasure, discontent. He wants to break them, but they're broken, he wants to make them happy, but also rip them to shreds.

This might take on some lighter notes at times, but overall the idea is not good, and not happy. Perhaps over time things change (I'm used to base things off my mood and both enjoy suffering and bliss for a well rounded AU).

I'm thinking about a better name for this AU. It's basically a cult leader Narinder AU. He gets back his crown and powers, and the cult. Working title is Misery AU because honestly they all need therapy. No healthy coping mechanisms here.

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[comradejoanmir]

[weempersfanfics]

sonadow fic! (hanahaki)

another one..... hehe

[shakespearerants]

"Average person gets an illness misdiagnosed 12 x a year" factoid actually just statistical error. Average person gets 0 misdiagnosis a year. Tumblr user shakespearerants, who receives a misdiagnosis every time they go to a doctor, is an outlier adn should not have been counted.

[diablo1776]

New lockdowns by end of the year they say. "Disease X" is looking to be a new Avian Bird Flu and worse than covid per WHO. You know what else is coming? An Election.

[deduction-substitute]

One variation of hanahaki disease that I love but isnt commonly used is that its not about having your feelings be requited or not. It's all about how bottling things up and miscommunication can hurt the victim.

The flowers that restrict the lungs of its owner can be like. Symbolism for how we hold ourselves back from opening up to others, hurting ourselves in the process.

So, a way to cure the disease is to basically be true to yourself and to others.

Obviously I will be using this for Lucky

I'd imagine that he isnt stopping himself from opening up to others on purpose. He just assumes that he has no one to open up to.

Being from a different time paired with the fact that his memories are missing, it leads to this kind of. Disconnection between Lucky and the other residents of the manor

They don't understand Lucky because they can't understand Lucky. His situation is far too different from theirs, and with Lucky believing that he has no place in the manor he doesn't try to reach out to them past greeting each other in the halls or playing matches together, even if he wants to

He's aware of what hanahaki is, symptoms making themselves known immediately after Tutorial's death. Others have exerienced it but it never reached the stage where it became life threatening. The one who had the worst known symptoms was Joker, but it was resolved with a big Hullabaloo sobbing session

Lucky's symptoms develop slower compared to the others though, so the disease doesnt make itself too obvious. When Emma asks him how he knows so much about flowers, he doesnt tell her that he does research on the flowers that ESCAPE HIS FUCKING THROAT

He doesn't consider taking the surgery because in some twisted way the flowers are the only connection he has left of the Discontinued Crew.

The disease was actually bearable, then the veterans arrived and Lucky felt a bit lonely when he found out they all knew each other, then more survs and hunters arrived also knowing each other but never Lucky and he feels out of place and- oops! His feelings have worsened to the point that a whole garden is growing in his lungs/lh

At least there's variation in Lucky's flowers??